Blood in the Mirror (Haunted Collection Series Book 3) Page 10

  He sighed and shook his head. And sure, I could get Erin back too.

  Before he could become too morose, his cellphone text notification chimed. Surprised, Victor opened his eyes and picked his phone up from the side table.

  The message was from Janel Flanagan.

  Hey, how are you?

  Victor hesitated, wrestled with guilt, and then answered her. Still breathing. And you?

  Same, came the response. You took care of that rifle?

  Yeah. It’s all set now, he replied.

  You anywhere near Vermont? she asked.

  Down in PA right now. Why? What’s up? His heart quickened a little, worry gnawing at him.

  Nothing. Thought it would be good to get a drink, see how you’re holding up, was the response he received.

  Victor smiled, recalling how mercurial the woman was when she drank. Sure. Next time I’m in VT and as long as you’re not drinking vodka.

  She sent back a smiley face emoticon and a single line. No promises. J.

  Victor shook his head, put the phone back on the table and rubbed his right eye. The last time they had been out together she had enjoyed too much vodka, and when he had told her he wanted to leave she punched him in the face. And the woman knew how to punch. Her workout routine involved kickboxing and strengthening yoga.

  His black eye had lasted for more than a week, and she had given him a hairline fracture in the orbital socket.

  Victor didn’t know if she had calmed down at all, but he didn’t want to tempt fate by mixing Janel Flanagan and vodka again.

  He closed his eyes again, interlocked his fingers over his stomach, and tried to rest before Jeremy came home.

  Chapter 34: By Omission

  They sat in the Chicago booth of the Around the US restaurant. Shane Ryan had an unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear and a cup of black coffee in his hands.

  Jeremy looked at the man and asked the question that had prompted him to request Shane’s presence in Pennsylvania.

  “What do you know about goblins?” Jeremy asked.

  Shane looked at him for a moment, a calculating stare. Finally, he said, “I don’t know much beyond what I’ve read, Jeremy.”

  Jeremy sighed. “That is essentially my own situation. But you seem to have a deeper understanding of the darker forces. I was hoping you would be able to enlighten me.”

  “And this was the question you wanted to ask me?” Shane asked. “The one so important that you paid for my flight out here and back.”

  “Partially,” Jeremy answered. He paused as the waitress returned with a pair of small, deep dish, Chicago style pizzas. When she walked away, Jeremy continued. “The rest is not a question, so much a favor, and to be honest, Shane, I don’t want there to be any written or recorded history of this.”

  “Well,” Shane said, “sounds ominous. What’s going on?”

  Lowering his voice, Jeremy told him about the deaths of the two teenagers and the sudden disappearance of a nearby resident. And then he told Shane about his fear that it was the goblin, and that the killings wouldn’t stop.

  When he had finished Jeremy watched for Shane’s reaction, but all the bald man did was cut himself a slice of pizza and take several bites. As he was about to ask Shane what he thought of the situation, Shane spoke.

  “Do you want me to try and kill it? This goblin, Jean Luc?” he asked.

  “I would appreciate that, yes,” Jeremy said. “But I don’t know if it can be killed.”

  “Everything can be killed, Jeremy,” Shane said in a low, cold voice. “It’s just a matter of using the right weapon. I know a little about them. Not much. Obviously, I didn’t come into any real contact with creatures like it. What I do know is this, some of them are okay. They do stupid stuff, like in the fairy tales from Ireland. Stealing things, rearranging a house, spoiling milk. But then there are others. The ones that the people who write kids’ books don’t like to mention, and those are the ones like Jean Luc.”

  Shane took a sip of his coffee before he continued. “The old stories, the ones I remember, these goblins and ogres and trolls, they’re killers. They like to kill. That’s it. No rhyme, no reason. I’m thinking your little buddy, Jean Luc, that he’s one who just likes to see the bodies stack up.”

  Shane shook his head, finished his drink and said, “Listen, I’ll do some more research online. Reach out to a couple of people I know who might have a clue about how to kill the damned thing. When I do, I’ll text you. All it will say is, ‘I want to talk about Jean Luc’, then we can meet back here. Sound good?”

  Relief swept through Jeremy as he nodded. “Yes. Yes, that sounds quite excellent, Shane. Thank you very much. In the meantime, I will contact Leanne to see if she will speak to me about Jean Luc, his history, and what in God’s name it is.”

  “Sounds good, and you’re welcome,” Shane said, cutting himself another piece of pizza. “And damn if this doesn’t taste like a real, Chicago deep dish.”

  Chapter 35: A Gut Instinct

  He had fled the safety of the house after he fired several rounds out the doorway.

  Sitting by his car, Stefan’s hands no longer shook.

  Someone was helping his father. Someone nearby.

  And he would find out who it was.

  Stefan opened the driver’s side door, pressed the trunk release button, and eased the door back into place. He had a suspicion that the unknown conspirator could see him, but he suspected his father wanted to be the one responsible for doling out whatever punishment the dead man decided upon.

  Stefan crawled around to the back of the car, got to his feet and crouched low over the trunk. He flipped up the carpeting, snarled as he dragged the spare tire out of the well, and removed the hard-case squirreled away beneath it. His fingers deftly keyed the lock open, and he removed the disassembled Ruger .22 rifle. In silence, he reassembled the weapon, adding a suppressor and slipping the magazine into place. He chambered a round, slipped several extra magazines into his pockets, glanced at his house, and smiled.

  “Don’t worry, father,” Stefan said aloud to himself. “I’m only going to injure your little friend. I want to know how he’s helping you.”

  As Stefan turned away from the house, he slammed the trunk closed, and slipped away into the darkness of the woods.

  ***

  Ariana heard the slam of a car door and glanced back, wondering where it had come from. She hesitated on the sidewalk, entertaining the idea that perhaps it had come from her brother’s house.

  She shook the thought away.

  If there was an issue, then her father would tell her when she checked on the building in the morning. Her main goal was to get into a hot shower, eat a decent meal, and sleep in a bed rather than tied to a tree.

  She kept a quick pace, trying to look and act like a frazzled mother seeking some sort of relief with a short walk. Ariana glanced at the windows of the houses and cars she passed, seeking any clue that Stefan may be following her. He was a skilled and dangerous man, and she didn’t want to be taken by him.

  Getting out of that situation would be difficult, if not impossible.

  Ariana had left her rental car several streets over in the parking lot of a defunct McDonald’s.

  She kept her harried demeanor as she neared the place where she would cross the street. Ariana yawned, the adrenaline high of the past few hours replaced by the familiar crash. She felt relief at having accomplished the mission, and her stomach churned with a mixture of hunger and eager anticipation for the results of the new mirror’s placement. She wished she could have set a camera in the house to catch a few images of Stefan’s horrified face before their father delivered his vengeance.

  Maybe he’ll tell me all about it, she thought and turned again. Ahead of her, she caught sight of the dull, golden arches and quickened her pace. She paused at the edge of the road, glanced to either side to make sure she wouldn’t be killed by some idiot racing their tricked-out pickup, and crossed the asphalt.r />
  Less than twenty feet from the car, she let out a gasp of agonized surprise as pain exploded in her right knee. She stumbled and shouted as her left knee added its voice to the cacophony of pain.

  Ariana fell flat, unable to catch herself, her face smashing into the pavement. Fear blossomed in her chest as she tried to get on her hands and knees, but her right hand shot out as something struck her in the wrist, and she fell to the pavement again.

  She didn’t try to get up. Instead, she slipped her left hand into the pocket of her pants, found the home button of her iPhone and pressed it, shouting, “Send it!”

  Ariana inhaled to shout again, but the world went black.

  ***

  Stefan crouched down beside the woman he had tracked from his street. There had been something off about her, the way she had hurried along. When she headed towards the abandoned restaurant, Stefan was sure she was the one.

  Now, with the woman on the cracked asphalt in front of him, he looked at her. Blood marred the pale skin of her face, and a bruise was rapidly forming from where he had struck her on the side of the head with the butt of the rifle. There was something familiar about her, the curve of her cheek and the high forehead, but he couldn’t place it.

  None of the shots would prove to be fatal, unless she went into shock and died, which would be unfortunate. But he had worked through harder situations.

  He put the rifle down beside him, quickly bound the small wounds inflicted by the .22 caliber rounds, then eyed the car she had been attempting to reach. Smiling, Stefan stood, went around to the passenger’s side and smashed the window in.

  Soon he had her loaded into the backseat, hands, and ankles zip-tied. Her breathing was shallow but steady as he found both the key to the car and her cellphone.

  The phone was locked, but he could get into that later, if necessary.

  He climbed into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and tuned the radio to a station that played something other than country. By the time he pulled out of the abandoned McDonald’s parking lot, Stefan was whistling.

  Chapter 36: Another Curiosity

  Lana chewed on a piece of gum; the flavor long since vanished.

  She stood in Shawn Thomas’ backyard beside Marilyn Yen, an investigator for Pennsylvania who had called her for assistance.

  “I read about your case over the line,” Marilyn said, her voice soft in spite of her six foot two frame and heavy build. “I thought you might want to be in on this a little bit.”

  “I do,” Lana murmured. “I surely do.”

  Her eyes fixated on a large, dried red splotch on the dirty glass of the backdoor’s window. The missing man’s hand was on the second step where his girlfriend, Melanie Spillane, had dropped it. Ms. Spillane was under sedation at the hospital and wouldn’t be any good to anyone until she could open her mouth and not scream.

  Volunteers were out searching for the rest of Mr. Thomas because Lana was positive that the end wasn’t going to be good.

  She doubted the man would come strolling out of the forest, the stump of his arm wrapped in a bandage and wondering where his hand was.

  Right here, Mr. Thomas, Lana thought bitterly, we can’t attach it for you. But hey, morticians are pretty fantastic nowadays.

  A radio crackled near her, and she and Marilyn turned toward it.

  Donny nodded as he answered the person on the other end, saw her and said, “They may have found something, Boss.”

  Lana sighed at the ‘something,’ as Marilyn said, “Okay. Lead on.”

  The three of them walked in silence, meeting up with a sergeant whose face had an unhealthy gray pallor to it.

  “Bad?” Lana asked.

  “The worst thing I’ve ever seen,” the sergeant confessed. The man escorted them to what could loosely be described as a crime scene.

  A few articles of clothing, torn and bloodied, formed a rough circle around a pair of eyes and a scalp. Lana assumed the clothes and body parts belonged to the missing Mr. Thomas, although they would have to wait for DNA testing to confirm it.

  Marilyn looked around and asked, “Where does it go from here?”

  The sergeant shook his head. “The question isn’t where does it go, but where doesn’t it go. I’ve got officers on nine different paths right now. All I can hope is that we’re able to secure everything before the animals get to it if they haven’t started already.”

  “God in heaven,” Danny murmured.

  The sound of someone retching nearby interrupted them, and a moment later a young female officer hurried into view. “We found the man’s face.”

  “Are you sure?” Lana asked, her voice tight and her stomach clenching in disgust.

  The officer could only nod, her lips pressed close together.

  “Show me,” Marilyn said.

  They formed a small convoy as they headed deeper into the forest. In less than a hundred feet, they came upon a male officer leaning against a tree for support. His eyes were closed, and there was vomit nearby.

  Lana found herself hoping he hadn’t destroyed any evidence, and she hated herself for the thought.

  “There,” the female officer said, pointing down near the base of an old elm tree.

  Lana squatted down and examined the scene before her.

  There was a man’s face, the edges of it having been neatly sliced from the rest of the head. The eyelids were closed, and the skin was stretched out. Beside the dead flesh, the contents of the man’s wallet had been arranged in an orderly pattern, with the license closest to the face. It clearly showed the similarity between the man in the photo, Shawn Thomas, and the face on the forest grounds.

  She stared at the scene for a few minutes, the radios crackling. Lana heard more calls coming in, reports of additional body parts, requests for markers and the forensics team.

  “What do you think?” Marilyn asked. “Same perpetrator for your double homicide?”

  “I think so,” Lana said, standing. “I don’t know why, but I do.”

  Chapter 37: Message Received

  Bontoc came in from headhunting, dropped the newest addition to his collection in the dry-sink and went into the bathroom.

  “Alexa,” he whispered. “Danse Macabre.”

  A moment later, the first notes of Camille Saint-Saën’s masterpiece spilled out of the small, powerful speakers placed throughout his subterranean apartment. He scrubbed his hands and arms up to his elbows, the water almost scalding him. Ignoring the discomfort, Bontoc waited until he was sure they were clean before he withdrew them. He turned off the water, dried his hands and arms on a towel, and tossed it into the hamper. From the linen closet, he took a fresh towel, made certain it was folded three times, and then hung it over the silver bar beside the sink.

  He glanced around the bathroom once, making certain all was as it should be, and then went into the back to the head. Staring down at it, he resisted the urge to lift it up once more, to examine the structure of the bones, the cut of the chin. The dead blue eyes revealed nothing, the light in them gone. The soul having escaped.

  Escaped but not gone.

  He turned away and went to his desk. The chair legs scraped on the concrete floor as he sat down and took his journal out from its place beside the monitor. Bontoc unclipped the pen from the journal’s cover and opened to the appropriate page. He jotted down the location he had gathered the head from, the time it took to do so, and how long he believed it would take to gain the dead man’s protection.

  When he had finished, Bontoc put everything away with practiced precision, and then turned on his computer.

  Before he could go much further, his mother opened her bedroom door.

  “Bontoc, is that you?” she asked in Tagalog.

  He twisted in his seat to face her, the small Filipino woman holding onto the frame of the doorway for comfort. She had been blind for decades, but in the past few years, she had begun to decline mentally.

  “Yes, Mother,” Bontoc answered in his native
tongue. “I am here. Do you need anything?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “No. Did you go out hunting?”

  “I did,” he replied.

  “And did you have any luck?” she asked.

  “Some,” he said, keeping the pride and boastfulness out of his voice, if not his thoughts.

  “Who was it?” she said.

  “A police officer,” he told her.

  Her smile widened, and she nodded her approval. "Such a good boy. Will you see me soon?"

  “Yes, Mother,” he answered.

  “Good. Tomorrow is Sunday, we must not miss Mass.”

  And with that, she retreated back into the bedroom. Once the door had clicked shut, Bontoc turned his attention to the computer. He checked his emails, and was surprised to see one from Leckie.

  Curious, Bontoc opened the message.

  Your retainer has been paid. Additional funds have been established in escrow under your name at Philippine National Bank. Please open the package you received, and begin the retrieval of all items listed in the attachment.

  The email was signed AL.

  For a moment longer, Bontoc sat at his computer, then shrugged, standing up and walking towards the door that led to his inner sanctum. The room in which not even his blind mother was allowed to enter.

  He punched in the code that unlocked the door, and he entered the room, sealing it behind him. Motion-sensor lights burst into life and revealed his collection.

  Eighty-seven human heads were arranged on shelves lining the walls. Recessed lighting cast muted beams upon them, and each severed head was protected within a glass case that assisted in the mummification process. Soon, Bontoc would have the 88th set in a place of honor. The woman had fought hard, harder than most of the others, and she had nearly caught him. Her head was worth far more than the one he had been chasing after.

  Business before pleasure, he chided himself, and he walked to the end of the room. On a small table was a package he had received only a few days prior. There had been a note attached, informing him that a small amount of ‘babysitting’ money had been placed in his account. And should his services be required, he would be told as much, and his retainer paid.